


Feel Better

by sallyamongpoison



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Holden is forever paranoid, M/M, Sickfic, featuring Nurse Dogmeat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 03:10:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11199240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallyamongpoison/pseuds/sallyamongpoison
Summary: In which Holden is ill and lonely, and somehow Danse knows how to make him feel better.





	Feel Better

Deathclaws.

Mirelurks.

Super Mutants.

Those were supposed to be the perils of the wasteland, right? The Commonwealth’s own trials to navigate to survive. Holden had managed with ease, or relatively anyway, against those. What kept him down, though? What crept up on him and made him feel like he was dying? Not claws to the chest, not the time he’d broken his nose headbutting that Super Mutant, but…God, it was so embarrassing.

A fucking summer cold.

Holden had been laid up in his shack at the Drive In for three days at this point. It was hot and humid outside, nearly steaming, and it made him feel like he was breathing through a wet rag. Dogmeat, steadfast companion that he was, had stayed next to his bed with his tail wagging since he’d gone to bed a few days ago and not gotten back up since. Every so often a furry face would appear on the edge of his mattress, and Holden would lift a clammy hand to scratch his ears. It was nice to have someone there with him.

The others left him mostly alone, save for Codsworth who would bring medicine and water and food for him, which Holden didn’t mind. It didn’t make sense for the others to get sick from him, after all. But it did make things a bit lonely. As he coughed and sneezed and sweated he kind of wished for some company. Dogmeat was great, especially when he’d jump up on the bed and sit at Holden’s feet while he worried at one of his chew toys, but not exactly good for conversation. He kind of missed talking, even though he really couldn’t for the moment. 

He didn’t know how long he’d lay there, but it had to have been a while. Codsworth came and went, left Holden alone for a while, and he might have dozed for a couple of hours. When he woke, something made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Even in the fog of medicine, sleep, and sickness he knew something was different. Something, in his little house, was wrong.

Holden wasn’t alone.

There wasn’t a gun to reach for. His guns were locked up in a case by his desk, as was his way, and for just a moment Holden regretted that. He should have a gun close to hand. Why didn’t he? And why would someone be _in there_ with him? Who would just…be in there? No one ever just dropped into his room. At least, not unless there was a problem. 

Slowly, Holden rolled over. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see, but it certainly wasn’t Danse sitting in one of the low chairs with Dogmeat’s head in his lap. His eyes widened just a bit, and he blinked until watery tears spilled down his face. His head felt full and swollen, and he coughed a bit as he tried to force himself to move. It hadn’t worked. Not really. And that had caught both Danse and Dogmeat’s attention.

The older man moved. He obviously wasn’t in the power armor but still moved like he was. Even dressed in jean and a t-shirt the man looked every bit the soldier. He was all power and presence, even in the small little bungalow with a sick man in bed. Holden watched him, watched as he took the two steps to the bed and reached over to rest a hand on his forehead. Danse frowned, then settled himself at the edge of the bed.

“You have a fever.”

Holden sniffed, “Feels like it.”

“You should eat something to help it.” The man never really spoke conversationally. If he did, it was a bit clumsy and awkward. Mostly it was just in a collection of statements like he was doing now. But there was something comforting about that. Somehow. 

“Not hungry,” Holden answered, though he did move a little closer to the bulk at the edge of the bed. Maybe he was starved for contact, but it was nice to have someone close. Angie used to do much the same when he was sick. She was a quiet presence when he didn’t want to be smothered, and Danse was very much that for him now.

Danse tipped his head to the side and studied Holden for a long moment, “I’m going to get you some juice. And some food. You just rest.” He moved to get up, but Holden reached out a hand to rest it on the man’s knee so he wouldn’t move.

“In a minute,” Holden prompted. His voice was muffled and slurred for how stuffed up he was. “Stay?” he asked, “just…just for a bit?” They’d been moving around one another in sort of awkward moments with some fumbling Holden had never really felt before. Danse disarmed him in a lot of ways, and now he was in his house and trying to take care of him. Now he didn’t want Danse to go. Not now.

There was a beat where neither of them moved. Neither of them said anything. Danse was still with Holden’s hand on his knee, and Holden couldn’t really think to move it away. And then…well, it felt like hours but had maybe been a minute, Danse moved. He moved, swung his legs up onto the bed, and shifted until Holden’s head was pillowed on his chest. That was unexpected, but Holden didn’t mind. He relaxed into it, closed his eyes, and took in the gentle rise and fall of Danse’s chest.

Maybe now he would start to feel better.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on Tumblr! @sallyamongpoison


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